


Will never be like him

by Rattle



Category: Stardew Valley (Video Game)
Genre: Abandonment Issues, Brooding, Established Relationship, F/M, Fluff, One Shot, Pure Speculation, Second Person, Unprotected Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-26
Updated: 2021-01-26
Packaged: 2021-03-12 09:07:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,572
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29008041
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rattle/pseuds/Rattle
Summary: Sebastian found his father. He wants to head to Zuzu city to meet him. You tag along, naturally. The two of you do everything together.
Relationships: Sebastian (Stardew Valley)/Reader, Sebastian/Female Player (Stardew Valley)
Kudos: 112





	Will never be like him

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ichik](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ichik/gifts).



“I think… I think I found him.” He’s troubled, restless, fingers tangling and untangling. “Well not exactly him. Just a clue.” 

You’ve long suspected there was a reason he wanted out. Logically, the latter never made any sense. The city only offers things he implied he hated. So, naturally, when he said he no longer wants to move there, you’ve accepted it. But thoughts about the city continue to linger in his head. 

You’ve long suspected the actual reason was his estranged father. They’ve never met properly. It’s a tale as old as time: a man, a woman, a fling, a tumble, a conflict, a parting, a realisation. It’s not your tale. 

“I’m going with you, right?”

“If you don’t mind.” Of course you don’t. 

You can take the express, or the bus, or even hire a cab. But the bike is fine, even though it’s a three hour trip and your legs will scream at you after. You set the alarm to before the dawn. Sebastian is still restless and has trouble falling asleep, and, in the deep of the night, you can feel his hands reaching for you. You grab one, and blow a raspberry against the wrist. He chuckles. He sleeps. 

After the morning coffee and waltzing around each other in the bathroom, you set out. The road goes straight through the desert, and the sun is rising to your right, but it’s merciful for now, because it’s early in the summer and early in the day. 

You stop at a diner by a gas station. It’s a backwoods place, but the coffee is surprisingly decent. You share a breakfast platter. At this time of day, it’s the only item on the menu. Sebastian assaults the cheese sticks, stabbing at them angrily with his fork. But he moves the omelette towards you carefully, almost gently. 

“Thanks,” you say, nudging his side. He nods. You can never claim to know for sure what’s in that dark head of his, but your guesses are usually correct. 

His mum didn’t want to tell him anything, so he had to conduct his own investigation, and it led him back into the city, and an office building where his father allegedly used to work. 

You leave the bike in the underground garage near the hotel you booked in case you need to stay the night. There’s too much traffic for it downtown. After some deliberation, you leave your backpack in the room, too. There’s muggers, you remember. 

The city smells awful, worse than a neglected compost bin, and, after a while, you start choking a tiny bit, and your head spins. It’s those goddamn fumes, mostly. But there’s air conditioning in the room, and the air is sterile, and there’s a potpourri bowl on the nightstand. 

“That’s a nice bed, don’t you think,” you say. 

Sebastian smiles with the corners of his lips, not looking at you, fumbling for a pack of cigarettes in your backpack to stick into his jeans’ pocket. His eyes light up a little. 

“It actually is.”

He wants to buy a map in the lobby, but you know the way around this part of the city still, although you wish you could forget. The train schedule, the street numbers, they all occupy unwanted space in your head you’d like to fill with something else. You still buy the map, though, as a souvenir, because paper maps are colorful and vintage, and Emily would love one. 

On the train you hide your face in the curve of his long neck, both of your arms around him, as he embraces you with one and holds onto a handrail for the both of you, with the other. 

Outside, you lift your head and it spins again at the sight of the glass and granite wall. You don’t want to be here. Your throat is dry.

It isn’t the same office, or the same building, you know it, you do, but it still feels like walls are pressing down on you. You swallow loudly, try to steady yourself. “It’s alright,” he says and reaches for your hand. “You’re alright. Breathe.” 

You try. 

“I love you.” 

“I love you,” he echoes, and squeezes your fingers. The receptionist stares. 

You’re in a waiting room. It’s interview day, and you’re surrounded by men in suits. They are not intimidated by you. In fact, they seem to be dismissive of you and your clothes. Sebastian coughs and adjusts his hoodie. You don’t adjust your jeans, although you know they’re dirty at the hems, and lean your head into his shoulder. You’re a bit tired, and overwhelmed, and he senses. 

“Dinner after,” he promises. 

Finally, you’re invited in. The assistant argues that you can’t go in together, but Sebastian stares her down, and she relents. What kind of nonsense is this? You go everywhere together. 

You meet the man inside. He is a “regional manager”, and he’s even nastier than Morris. He bothers his assistant for coffee, then bothers her again when the coffee isn’t to his liking, and then doesn’t drink it. 

It’s really good coffee, though. 

“Sure, I remember him. Been in the trade together for a while. Absolute blabbermouth, but it helped him close a deal or two. Or a hundred. Until that embezzlement thing.”

“What,” Sebastian mutters. 

“Embezzled the investors’ money. Not a lot of it, honestly. I say, if you do it, go the whole way. Go nuts.”

Sebastian’s shoulders drop. You put a hand on his knee, and he fumbles for it, frantically. 

“So he’s in prison now?”

The man laughs. “Oh no, not at all. Avoided it entirely.”

Your blood nearly boils when you learn, how. 

You’re not dressed properly for high-end restaurants, although you guess you could afford them now, but what’s the point? You find a park, and a cozy food stall, and eat something greasy, crunchy and delicious from one paper plate while looking at the skaters. 

“Should get something for Sam,” you offer. Sebastian nods. 

He’s nervous. 

On the way to the church you pass a dive bar. It’s surrounded by bikers, and he stares at their chrome beasts for a while, mild curiosity in his eyes. 

One of them yells, “Hey, hey, kid! That your mum or something?”

“Ignore them,” Sebastian mumbles, braiding his fingers with yours, and you do. 

The service is in full swing. Crouching, the two of you creep to the free seats, with many looking judgmentally at you, as if it was a movie theater. The man speaks to the flock, and he seems eloquent and, at first glance, candid. But something is so not right. You feel it when he starts quoting from the Book. 

“...listen to your father, who gave you life, as you listen for the will of Yoba, and never forsake either of them.” 

“Preach,” someone says. Others nod. The priest seems very content at this reaction. You think he stares right at you. No, not at you. 

“Fuck,” Sebastian mumbles, staring back at the priest. 

The service is all but concluded. “Please give generously,” the priest says, and people pass a basket. Sebastian dodges it, not looking. A lady to his left gazes at him with all the condemnation she could possibly muster. “It’s for the children!” she croaks. 

Sebastian chuckles mirthlessly. 

You guess you can see the resemblance. Same gaunt body type, same cheekbones, same straight nose. Same hair, but salt and pepper instead of a blue tint. Yet there are sharp differences, too. This man has a very weak chin, which he tries, unsuccessfully, to hide with a thin beard. His eyes, though matching in color, are sly and shifty, and his smile feels fake. Although, unlike Sebastian, he gives it readily. But it never reaches further up. You can see that it’s way more wrinkled around his mouth than it is around his eyes. 

Sometimes, probably, when a corporate stooge or an unsuccessful trader finds refuge and “calling” among clergy, it’s inspiring. Oh my, how they have turned their life around. There’s nothing inspiring about this man, though. It feels like he just found the one thing he’s good at — talking the talk — and stuck to it in an establishment where no taxation is involved and where people always choose to listen, and believe, and trust. Plus that whole _crime_ stuff. You’re not sure… Maybe you’re projecting. You feel very protective of Sebastian, after all, and anyone who causes him distress is an enemy in your eyes. 

“So you’re a priest now.”

“I am. For over a decade now.” The man nods in what he must think is a dignified manner. And then adds, apologetically: “You must understand, this is where I belong. I have found my calling.”

Sebastian shrugs. “Not judging you for it.”

But he does judge him for other things, you think, and rightfully so. This man left, after all, right after he learned Robin was pregnant. Then changed his mind, returned, then left again when Sebastian was very little. Afterwards, never reached out, never helped when she was struggling, when she had to work two jobs, to give up her apartment. Instead he went on to spread nasty rumours about her, as if the rest wasn’t enough. 

You didn’t know some of these things. But Sebastian lists them, detached, cold, just to let his father know he knows. They were in his head for decades. He wanted to know why. Maybe that’s his only reasoning for all of this. 

“I was… A very different man back then,” the priest says, looking up, and not at him.

“Sure you were.” 

It doesn’t feel right to leave, it never does, but they probably need time alone. The man keeps referring to you as “girlfriend”, although Sebastian was quite clear that you’re his wife. You excuse yourself and get up, and slowly go around the church hall. “Why marry her, though,” you hear, faintly. 

“Think very hard about what you’re going to say next, _dad._ ” 

It’s shiny, golden and pristine. Every corner of it is filled with light. Stubs of candles burn beneath an altar. Someone sitting nearby, their forehead leaning into the back of the next row’s benches. They must be praying. Or snoozing. Same outcome and benefit, really. 

You get back. They are talking still, but now there are more pauses than words. 

“You… Do you need money? I don’t have much, but...”

Sebastian interrupts, “I have money.”

“So, uhm... Son… That town you live in sounds lovely. May I come see you there sometime?”

Sebastian looks at him intently for what feels like a whole minute. Then he says, “No.”

You weren’t projecting. And now you’re sure. 

“Come on,” he tells you, and takes your hand. 

He’s in the spacious hotel shower, unmoving. His back to you, head bowed, staring down, water hitting his neck. He’s brooding. His mind is somewhere else. You want it to be here, with you. 

You slide the glass door to the right. 

“Sebastian.”

He flinches and half-turns his head. “M?”

“Your ass is pure perfection.”

He chuckles. It’s a tiny prickle. You step in and lean. Breasts against his back, arms under his, encircling, crawling down. “May I?” Water is hitting your crown now, too. He exhales slowly. 

“Yeah.”

You expect to find him limp, but he’s half-mast already. At least.  
“Is it an anger boner?” you ask, nuzzling between his shoulder blades. Playful. “Or a sadness boner?”

He groans, throwing his head back, hips slightly forward, into your hand. 

“Or could it be,” you whisper, stroking slowly, “I’m-horny-for-my-wife boner? No! O mercy me, no, it can’t be.” 

“Come on,” Sebastian whines, his voice no longer hollow. 

You tease again, “You must be tired.”

“Yeah.”

“Let’s go to sleep?”

“No.”

“No?”

“No. Not yet.”

But when you actually get to the bed, he’s not so enthusiastic anymore. The spark is dying, and he is no longer here with you. This won’t do. You climb on top of him and place short, gentle, featherlight kisses on his jaw, and neck, and lips until they give in and part. 

And then you can’t help but take a guess. “You will never be like him, Sebastian. If you were to ever be a father… Even less so.” 

His lips purse and he’s conflicted, wistful, but his hands still travel up and down your thighs, up and down, as if he’s trying to ground himself.

“Are you sure?” he finally asks. 

“I’m sure.” He’d heard all of it before from you, so many times. How he’s kind, and selfless, and good, and beautiful, and no one compares, and of how much you love him, will always love him. But you say it all again, nonetheless. Then he’s on top of you. 

“We’re gonna sleep,” he tells you between kisses. “And in the morning, we drive home. But I’m gonna fuck my wife raw, first.” 

And the rest of today is... better. 

“Oh, baby, oh, baby, I love you so much, so much.” 

He groans into your ear. He’s close. 

Your legs want to encircle him, pull him in, but you hold back still. “Inside, please, Sebastian, inside me.”

He pants, tries to rise, squeezes himself at the base. “Yeah?”

“Please give it to me, fill me up, Sebastian, please.”

For a second there, you think he’ll still pull away. He does that, usually. Spills on your belly, your back, your thighs, your face sometimes, when both of you are feeling kinky and adventurous. You like it. You like the ritual that follows, too: him rushing to the bathroom, bringing back a towel drenched in warm water, cleaning you as you whimper slightly, legs still like jelly, the aftershocks still pulsing between them. 

You don’t want this now. And he doesn’t pull away. He comes inside you, throat growling, fingers clenching, cock _throbbing._ This is the best feeling in the world. Alright, maybe second best. Right after the way he falls asleep when he’s untroubled, before you do, and without a crease between his brows. 

The hotel receptionist gives you a smile that doesn’t reach her eyes, and you wince. “Hope you enjoyed your stay!” You did, but you’re enjoying the _leave_ more. 

On the way to the garage he stops by an electronics store. You pick a new portable game to give to Sam. Avoiding the helpful consultant, Sebastian chooses a video camera. His eyes are sparkling. Your mind goes places. You smile mischievously but still ask, “What’s this for?”

“You know… I thought we could make videos. Like “Life of a cucumber”, from seed to pickle. No talking, no people, just… Stuff. And then post those online. Show them where their food comes from.”

You actually like the idea. They’d be very soothing. They’d be very… Sebastian. 

“Don’t know the first thing about editing though, but I think Sam does.”

He remembers. “Oh yeah!” 

“I’m in. Would take time and dedication.”

Like all the best things. You’ve been courting him for over two years before he agreed to marry you, after all. It took him a year just to finally allow you to touch him. 

He shrugs. “We have those. Right?”

“Of course we do. I’m not going anywhere, and neither is the farm.”

“Yeah,” he says. “I’m not going anywhere either.”

The sun is to your left. It’s hot, and you’re sweating. But, maybe, when you get back home, you could go for a swim together. 


End file.
